


Simplicity

by IAmTheUltimateGleek



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A Cute Prompt I got to help with writer's block, F/F, Fluff, Intsys plz their dynamic would be adorable, Two gals chilling in the stables five feet apart cause they're both gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 12:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21428425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheUltimateGleek/pseuds/IAmTheUltimateGleek
Summary: If someone were to tell her that Dorothea was the incarnate of compassion, Marianne would have little to no doubts. Comparing even the heavens themselves to her etherealness felt as though it treaded upon the lines of a disservice.And yet, despite all of those soft smiles, including the one resting on her face at current, Marianne had never been more certain that she had been thrown into the furthest ends of Hell itself.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Marianne von Edmund
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	Simplicity

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all want some rarepairs!!! :3c

There was a certain comfort Marianne found in simplicity. 

Her life entertained very little, and the silence of her adoptive father’s residence had been comfortable enough for some time. Praying, sleeping, avoiding other people, all were bearable necessities. 

Each passing day allowed moments of relief, where the nothingness could estrange her from the burdens of existing as a she did; breathing as a curse. Going through the motions day in and day out ensured less risks. The dissonance was needed. At least, she had told herself as much since the incident of her youth. 

Yet, not long after arriving at Garegg Mach she found that complications to her routine were unavoidable. Group tasks, training, killing. The atmosphere was a far call from the desolate foyers of home, everything was more intense. 

As was everyone.

Admittance into the Goddess’s Academy though, was not something she would have readily passed upon. It was also equally as unlikely that her adoptive father would have allowed the slight to their name. His insistence was stressful, to say the least, but deep in her heart, Marianne understood that his intentions were not malicious. However, they also could not stand as justifications. 

For better or worse, attending the Monastery had given her something she never imaged she could deserve. Memories. Happier memories. 

The aching dread still lingered. Her past and future were both oppressive in their own uniquely torturous ways. However, the present had become irreplaceable. 

The interlude of independence she had been granted shifted reality in small ways. Those who surrounded her sought no heir or beast of Edmund. They cared not for her excuses of solitude, or desolation from their embrace. Instead, they insisted, they were boisterous, honest, and kind in ways the rest of the world had never been.

They were her friends.

It was difficult, but then the burden eased. The voices became less overwhelming, as did the call of her blood. Marianne found fleeting moments. Simple youthful smiles that she had long forgotten herself capable of bearing. 

When the time came for her to tread forward along the path her name demanded she lay claim within the blessing would come to pass. But for now, it was more than enough.

In instances such as these, despair could not find her so easily. The stables were far from the restless world, the wide set wooden confines and scent of fresh piled hay calmed her soul like nothing else. 

Here, she could speak freely, without fear, to one of her closest confidents. Even if he wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself.

Her growth was what Hilda often called, a work in progress. The very concept of burdening someone else with her presence was not an easily forgotten concern. 

Dorte understood her well, very well, and as though he could sense the downward spiral her thoughts were tending towards unintentionally, he blew a soft huff of air against her furrowed brow.

Marianne snapped back into the present with a start. On instinct, she turned her head to the ground in sudden apology, “O-oh, was I r-rambling again? I’m sorry…”

Dorte held a familiar gaze. The look of chastisement that rang throughout his large dark eyes was one she had become accustom to very early on in their friendship. With gentle hands, Marianne returned her focus to running the wooden comb through his mane once more, “I know I know, but it must be dreadfully boring to have to hear m-me always speak of such t-trifling things...” She whispered softly. 

Dorte stomped his front hoof, impatient with her self-berating. After another short moment of discussion, some of the tension fell from Marianne’s shoulders. With a relieved sigh, she tapped his snout in jest, “Stubborn…but thank you, Dorte.” The steed’s massive frame gently bumped into Marianne’s own, earning a rare small smile in return.

The wild, tamed, stray, and docile companions of The Officer’s Academy each had such wonderfully unique personalities, but Dorte in particular was Marianne’s constant. His emotions were honestly communicated, without fear of what lied beneath her skin, and in moments such as these, tending to him was a blessing much more so than a duty. 

As the brush continued to tread through his long gray locks, Marianne felt a familiar solace warm her heart. The confines of her obligations did not exist within these stables. Marianne von Edmund was simply a student, lost in the task at hand as her thoughts wandered along, unopposed.

She recounted the moons that had cycled past her in the blink of an eye. The comrades she had come to adore. But eventually her mind fell amidst a sound she had not heard in some time. Her mother’s voice, humming a lullaby older than the waves themselves. 

If she tried, she could vaguely remember the tune lulling her to sleep, once upon a time. It was nothing extravagant, but the timelessness of the melody had become lost to the furthest recesses of her dreams, nightmares, it seemed.

Before the incident, Marianne swore she had once sung along. Now though, as she sat upon the lyrics in her head, the song’s end eluded her. What remained was all she had, and perhaps, she reasoned, it was all she deserved.

Before she realized it, soft words began to fall from her lips. Each escaped her within a gentle rush of nostalgia, “Life is not just filled with happiness, nor sorrow, even the thorn in your heart, in time it may become a rose,” Choir practice under the Goddess’s eye was a necessity for her faith, but this lullaby had brought her mother pride, peace even. Of that she was still certain. 

Her voice felt strained, rough from near disuse, but unlike the hymns that reverberated throughout the cathedral arches like a triumph of angelic choruses, Marianne carried the tune without dissonance, or expectation, “Within my ancient heart dwells madness and pride. Can no one hear my cry?” She knew she was no starlet, but the way Dorte’s eyes sparkled as she continued on comforted the unease away, until eventually she began to sing in earnest. 

Now, call it fate, or perhaps the fleeting pass of a chancing cruelty, but what Marianne had neglected to notice in Dorte’s attention is what, or rather who, had caught it. 

She had not realized the audience her voice had drawn forward until it was too late. “Bravo! Oh, please do go on! I haven’t heard that song in years!” The sudden clap of applause behind her nearly forced the comb in her hand to snap. She had expected nothing less, and yet, Marianne still could not believe how truthfully cursed she was within the timeline of fate.

Marianne dared a quick glance over her shoulder, but the sight that greeted her stole the very air from her lungs.

Dorothea was a visage of loveliness; an absolute of beauty that paid no head to any beholder’s eye. The scattered imagery of vast flower beds, crystalline coastlines, and the Goddess’s own house of worship, all scarcely held a flame in comparison to how stunning the songstress was without even trying. She was the type of woman that any person alive could only dream of calling their beloved, commoner or not, but her wit was something few dared to contest. 

Above all else though, Marianne felt at times she saw something beyond the façade of the diva’s natural grace. Dorothea went to great lengths to comfort others. Her devotion to those lucky enough to consider themselves her friends was driven beyond simple empathy, it was true and utter testament to its core of just how deeply she cared. 

If someone were to tell her that Dorothea was the incarnate of compassion, Marianne would have little to no doubts. Comparing even the heavens themselves to her etherealness felt as though it treaded upon the lines of a disservice. 

And yet, despite all of those soft smiles, including the one resting on her face at current, Marianne had never been more certain that she had been thrown into the furthest ends of Hell itself. 

Dorothea. It had to be Dorothea. Dorothea the professional songstress of the most renowned opera company in Fodlan. 

Dorothea had heard her singing.

While it was apparent that she had dared not move any closer, Marianne still had locked up beside Dorte, feeling cornered. The dawning realization that she had been caught, despite doing nothing inherently wrong, sent a tremble throughout her form and rooted her place. 

Fear was a tremendously difficult advisory to try and best, but, mercifully, Dorothea seemed to notice her reluctance and filled the silence herself easily, “I do hope I didn’t frighten you too badly, Mari. You’re giving Bern a run for her gold with that expression there,” Her voice wasn’t cruel, not even slightly. Without an ounce of mockery to be found, the soothing drawl of Dorothea’s voice nearly tore the jarring reality from Marianne’s consciousness and returned her to a place of safety.

Her words were tinged with what almost sounded like remorse, and it warmed the space between them more comfortably than any fireplace Marianne had ever known. It was nearly reminiscent of how Hilda sounded when she felt genuinely guilty with her teasing. 

And comparing the songstress to her best friend slowly, but surely, did manage to settle her heartbeat back into more manageable pace.

Dorte interrupted the repose with a low huff and nudge to her back, nearly tipping Marianne off balance. His ensured support trampled the remaining edge from her spine, but her gaze refused to meet Dorothea’s own, “N-no, I shouldn’t have b-been so l-loud…I’m sorry if my v-voice disturbed you…” Had Marianne kept her eyes up, she might have caught the flash of burning protectiveness that briefly blazed across emerald irises. 

Instead, she heard it outright, “Well now, that was not the case at all, Mari! You have nothing to apologize for, I simply just had to come see who such a lovely voice belonged to, and wouldn’t you know, I found quite the beautiful answer~” The words were so easily spoken. So sure.

Across the straw laden floor, the midday sun engulfed both girls in a vibrant halo of warm light; the lined rays that burst past the wooden foundation caught each strand of Dorothea’s rich brunette locks within a swirl of vibrant amber and gold hues. She appeared softer than the petals of a rose, yet the careful touches of color around her cheekbones and emerald eyes struck the assured air she carried with a sharp tandem of prowess.

The sight, and her voice, blended out the rest of the world, and it suddenly felt as though Marianne was falling. Past the haze of fantasy or fairytale-like dreams, the tale unfolding before her was one where Dorothea existed as an intangible fey; living beyond the meager words of a mortal’s description. 

Marianne swallowed. Every word she attempted to draw forth died on her tongue, useless. She felt horrid staring as she was, but it was mesmerizing, how someone like Dorothea could speak with her so freely. Without fear. 

After a long unpressured moment, Marianne managed to meet her gaze, “I…y-you don’t have t-to say such t-things, but I…t-thank you, Dorothea” When her hand nervously reached to brush a stray strand of blue hair back behind her ear, she swore Dorothea’s expression softened even more so.

“Not having to do something, makes it all the more fun~ Besides, if I recall correctly,” The songstress dared a playful step forward, her hands open and cautious as she kept the distance between them fair, “-I’m almost certain the finale is supposed to be a duet” That light of mischievousness that danced between her eyes returned without hesitation. It was a chide for Marianne to continue, but by her own volition.

She was giving Marianne the choice. 

Dorothea offered her hand. Undemanding, patient, “That is, if you would let me have the honor” 

Foldan’s nobility could be difficult to find comfort within. Often times the endless drawl of hushed betrayals, gossip, or death stifled even their glittering words with hallowed intent. Wealth, land, status; it was all superficial to some end or another, with the forefront claim to prestige being a blessing of blood.

And yet, in this one simple moment, Marianne cared not for the names of the suitors her adoptive father kept lying in wake, nor for the resounding crescendo of her accursed pulse that alit every nerve beneath her skin. 

For this moment, Marianne was certain that not a singular relic or crest of this lifetime or the next could compare in worth to the sight of Dorothea Arnault, face flushed in the midday sun with an unabashed, unapologetic smile, asking for her hand.

She couldn’t have helped it if she tried, the smile that Marianne returned felt nowhere near as immaculate or dazzling to behold, but Dorothea looked at her as though she had offered the world in her palms, “I-I would like that…very much. That is, i-if you don’t mind, I-I don’t even remember how it ends truthfully…”

With a careless wave of her hand, Dorothea sparked to life and crossed the remaining distance between them, “I suppose we should start from the beginning then no?” With a promising wink, she gave a flourishing bow to Marianne as though preparing for a dance.

Dorte snorted at the brilliant red hue that stained the very tips of Marianne’s ears, but she paid his jest no mind. 

Instead, Marianne took the hand before with care, and found, to no great surprise of her own, that there was a certain comfort to be found in how simple falling for Dorothea could be.

**Author's Note:**

> On god, I have a MASSIVE Black Eagles long shot and two Edeleth pieces that I have been working on nonstop for like months now, but I needed this break desperately~ Marianne's friendship with Dorte added 10 years to my life, but throwing Dorothea into the mix was far too sweet of an opportunity to pass up on<3
> 
> I hope this prompt brightened yall's day as much as it did mine~ Now heres to hoping I can keep the flow going!
> 
> Thanks for reading<3


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